


A Somewhat Higher Song

by casanovica



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bartenders, Blow Jobs, Catholic Guilt, Customer Service & Tech Support, Glory Hole, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Purgatory, customer service as purgatory, does it count as MCD if they're already dead?, it always ends in MCR, meaningless tasks, mention of bob bryar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casanovica/pseuds/casanovica
Summary: The hours tick by at a little bar in purgatory. With little else to do or hope for, the inhabitants are left wondering: what if there was something more in store for them?
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	A Somewhat Higher Song

**Author's Note:**

> My coworkers and I were discussing about our experiences in customer service and how it was pretty much purgatory and I thought, "what if this were like The Fall and Rise of the Black Parade, but worse?" Then this monstrosity was born.

The hours tick by.

Gerard wipes the bar counter clean as he has done a million times before. The bar is clean, has been clean, and is hardly ever not clean. It did get pretty gross that one time a gaggle of frat bros did too many Jäger shots and ended up puking all over the counter. That was a bitch to clean up. It took a whole two hours. But, after that they were done and had nothing to do again.

He would say he finds the smell of bleach comforting but at this point it’s akin to background noise to him. He could probably get used to the sound of a fly buzzing around his ear after an eternity of hearing that, too. 

Gerard is scrubbing at a stain that may or may not live exclusively in his mind when the door to the bar swings open. He hops to the serving station just as the others do and by pure luck makes it there just before Ray does. He sends him a winning smirk as two young women approach the counter. 

“Hey, welcome in. What can I get you today?” He asks, though not very cheerily. Ages of work behind the bar have grinded his cheer out of him. Doesn’t matter, the customers don’t really care anyway.

“Uh,” Starts the first girl. She has fiery red hair pulled into a high ponytail and an uninterested scowl crossing her face. “A Long Island Iced Tea, I guess.” 

“Got it!” Calls Ray from behind him, before Gerard even gets the chance to answer.

Gerard sighs. “Got that Long Island coming right up.” He turns to the other lady. She is taller and has her hair in dreadlocks that fall down her back. She’s staring at, or rather _through_ the menu behind him. “Can I get you anything?” He directs toward her.

It takes a second for her to realize he’s talking to her. “Oh, what? I’ll just have water, thanks.”

“Glass of water!” Shouts Mikey from his right, already digging a scoop into the ice machine.

“Anything else we can get for you ladies?” He asks, if only to fill time and silence. 

The redhead shakes her head no. The girl with the dreads concentrates on a spot in the distance, ignoring him completely. Gerard moves out of the way, his job done, and leans back against the wood of the bar cabinet behind him. 

Before long, Toro appears at the mat with a brownish looking drink that smells like death and floor cleaner. He garnishes it with a cherry before placing it in front of the women and announcing, “Long Island Iced Tea.”

The girl takes it and has a sip, scowling once more at the taste. She shakes her head and takes a breath before tipping her head back and downing the drink whole. When she’s done, she leaves the glass on the mat for Ray to take, which he does. 

“When is the band going on?” She asks, trying not to cough from the heavy drink.

“Soon.” Gerard replies automatically. She nods.

Mikey takes his place, handing off an ice water to the other girl. She looks down at the drink and up at Mikey and then back down at the drink. 

“I didn’t want ice in my water.” Still, she takes the glass of water and follows her friend to a different section of the bar, never to be seen again.

All in all, two very good customers. At least no one asked to see a manager.

Gerard swings the rag hanging over his shoulder and begins wiping down the bar again. There’s been customers since the last time he cleaned it, so he might as well start from the other side and make his way down again. 

Mikey and Ray sigh and get started on their menial tasks as well.

The hours tick by once more.

*

Gerard worked at a bar once, back in New Jersey. He hated it. Every time he would go in, he’d be waiting for his shift to end. He lasted a whole three and a half weeks there before he walked out one day and never went back.

Now he can’t. He’s in purgatory, literally.

He can’t walk out from his shift because there is no shift. It never ends. For what feels like forever now, Gerard has been standing behind this bar, waiting. Waiting for what? He’s not sure. Anything, really, at this point.

He waits for customers to come. They’re never happy, but they’re hardly ever mad either, which Gerard appreciates. He makes them their drinks. They take it. Sometimes they cause trouble. Sometimes they loiter around the main area. Sometimes they leave. 

Sometimes they even enter the forbidden doors. The people who work at the bar, the ones who have been here as long as Gerard has, they can’t go through those. A guy who used to work there, a kid named Bob, tried going through those doors. They never saw him again.

The people who they serve, they never see them again, either. 

He waits for a new task. Those are fun. They hardly ever get them, but it’s always a relief when they do. Occasionally, Brian, their manager, will pop out from the backroom and poke his head in and tell them to do something. Taking out the garbage or sorting the mail, usually. Those are pretty fun tasks. He’ll even take windexing the windows or marrying the ketchups at the booths. He’ll take _anything_.

He waits for the band. Everyone waits for the band, really. The customers are waiting, too. He has no idea _who_ will go on or _when_ they will go on. He’s just been told that someone eventually _will_. Gerard hopes it’s soon. He’d love to hear some music again, even if they only play for a little bit.

Mostly, he just waits for something to happen. All his life, things were happening. They were happening to him and around him. If nothing was going on, he could go out and find something, make something happen. That was back then, before he died. Now, he just waits.

“I’m fucking bored.” Mikey says, tossing a bright red maraschino cherry into his mouth and hopping off the back counter. “Let’s play Never Have I Ever.”

Gerard and Ray groan. It’s the game Mikey always wants to play. It goes the same way every time. Mikey senses their displeasure.

“You’re no fun. Please?”

There’s really nothing more to learn about each other. They’ve all been here for ages. They’ve had the same conversation fifty different times. It gets old. But, Mikey pouts and starts doing the puppy dog eyes at them and they can’t handle those, so he and Ray sigh and reluctantly put their fingers up.

“Yay! Gerard, you go first.” Mikey says excitedly.

“Uh.” His mind is blank. He tries to think of something no one’s asked yet. But, he also doesn't want to be boring. He comes up with nothing. “Never have I ever had a bubble bath.”

He looks around. No one puts a finger down. “That’s kinda sad, isn’t it?” He remarks. They nod in agreement and the game moves onto Ray.

“Never have I ever been on a surfboard.” Ray offers. Mikey lowers a finger. It was during a trip to Atlantic City and it did _not_ end well. They don’t discuss it further.

“Never have I ever forgotten the alphabet.” Mikey chuckles. 

“Really Mikey?” Gerard rolls his eyes and puts a finger down. Never have I ever usually gets personal, with the guys knowing every tiny detail about one another, but usually not this quick. He attempts to bring the game back to neutral again. “Never have I ever ridden a horse.”

No one puts their finger down again.

A smirk suddenly appears on Ray’s face. “Never have I ever worn women’s clothing.”

Mikey and Gerard both groan and put a finger down. They told that story in confidence.

“That’s not fair.” Mikey complains. “Never have I ever had curly hair.”

“Really?” Ray interjects. “Never have I ever slept with someone to get a job.” He blurts, completely bypassing Gerard’s turn.

Mikey scoffs. “Never have I ever fucked someone without knowing their name.”

Gerard notices that they’re not even putting their fingers down anymore, just hurling insults at one another. No respect for the rules of the game.

“Never have I ever gotten so drunk I pissed my pants.” Ray says, throwing his hands down.

Mikey steps closer to Ray and shoves a finger in his face. ”Never have I ever had my body parts live in the digestive system of a bear.”

Shit. He didn’t expect Mikey to go that far. They joke around about a lot of personal shit, but deaths are usually off limits. As Ray grips the bear claw necklace he has hanging from his neck, Gerard half wonders if Ray is going to toss his brother’s skinny ass over the bar counter. He doesn’t, which is good, because he doesn’t want to have to take Mikey to the office to beg for Brian’s help again. Mikey just stares into Ray’s eyes expressionless.

Ray stares back in silence, waiting to see who will flinch first. Eventually, he shrugs. "Good one."

Things return to normal after that. Well, their version of it.

Mikey smiles and hops back on the counter again. “Where’s Frank? He would’ve enjoyed that.”

Ah, yes the final member of their team, the wild Frank Iero. Now that Gerard thinks about it, he hasn't seen him in a while. 

“Still cleaning the bathrooms, I guess.” Gerard replies.

Toro’s eyebrows quirk up and he folds his arms against his chest. “But, he’s been in there for hours.” 

Mikey grimaces, visualizing the reasons why that might be the case. “Ugh. That means someone probably left a real stinker in there.”

“Or threw up again.” Ray offers.

They all shake their heads. Their bar doesn’t serve real food or anything, but the customers still seem to make a mess anywhere they can. Once when Ray was on bathroom duty, he found shit on the walls. _The walls._ Nobody wants bathroom duty, which is why they all usually bully Frank into doing it.

So, it is a bit of a surprise when Gerard suggests, “Someone should go help him.” 

Silence one more falls onto the air around them as no one volunteers to be the one to help.

“Straws?” Gerard asks.

They all nod, accepting what may be their fate. It’s the only fair way to decide matters like these and they leave their destiny up to the straw gods. Gerard gathers a few small black plastic mini straws, getting out the scissors to cut one of them shorter than the others. He rolls the little plastic tubes in his palm, shuffling them before closing his fist around them, and moving them up and around so no one can tell which is the shorter one. He brings them over to the group.

“Well, who wants to go first?”

No one answers, but Ray reaches out and tentatively puts a straw between his fingers. His hand is shaking as he does it, not sure if he wants to pull it out. He does, and when it emerges, it’s a full straw. He sighs in relief.

Mikey is next. He fingers back and forth between the two remaining straws before settling on the one closer to Gerard. Gerard’s eyes shoot up, looking into Mikey’s, mentally asking him, “Is that your final answer?” Mikey looks back down at the straws and takes the other one instead. He pulls it, wincing as his fate is revealed. When it’s out and in Mikey’s palm, though, it’s clean. He gives a little fist bump before looking at Gerard empathetically.

Gerard shrugs and pockets the remaining straw. “Guess it’s me.”

“Sorry bro.” Mikey says, patting Gerard on the shoulder.

“Yeah. Sucks.” Toro agrees.

Gerard throws his arms up in defeat, walking over toward the bathrooms. “Happens. You win some, you lose some.”

Gerard however, never loses some. As soon as he turns away from Ray and Mikey and they begin a conversation about hair gel, a sly smile spreads across Gerard’s face. The shorter straw lays in the trash can, where it had been since the beginning of the game. Gerard only lets them believe he lost, because he always, _always_ , rigs the game in his favor. And right now, his favor is Frank.

*

Frank was the first one to arrive in the purgatory that is the bar. They all stumbled in, very confused and found Frank, covered in water, running around the place looking for an exit. That was not only when they found out they were all dead and trapped in there for the rest of ever, but also, that they all had something with them. A memento, of sorts.

Frank died via electrocution. He had been taking a bath and had his phone charging and playing music on the ledge beside him. At some point, the phone fell in, which should have been fine, but Frank was very lazy and very careless, so the covering of the wires of his charger was damaged and frayed and the wires inside were exposed, leading an electric current to run through the water and his body. He says he remembers feeling a quick shock in his bones before it all went black. When he showed up here, he was wet, but thankfully, fully clothed.

The rest had similar stories. Ray had been on a camping trip and got mauled by a bear, so he had a bear claw in his pocket. Gerard and Mikey had been on a plane home from vacation. Gerard was panicking and saying his prayers that the plane didn’t go down. Technically, his prayers were answered. The plane had hardly even taken off when the engines blew. Gerard had a burnt piece of thick metal when he arrived. Later, it had been found that a flock of birds flew into the engine, causing it to explode, so Mikey came with some feathers for his death token. 

Brain was the only one to die of natural causes. He had cancer, a tumor in his pancreas that spread around his endocrine system. No one asked him what his memento was. 

When Gerard gets into the two stalled bathroom, he finds no mess, no lingering scent of cleaner. He doesn’t even find Frank.

“Frank?” Gerard calls. “You still in here?”

Suddenly, a stall door swings open. Frank is inside, on his knees, a screwdriver in his hands. “Gee! Come over here and check this out.” Frank exclaims, beckoning him over.

Gerard reluctantly goes toward him, afraid of what he’ll see. 

As he approaches, Frank is looking at him with a shit-eating grin. “Look what I made.”

Frank puts down the screwdriver and points toward the partition between the two stalls. Gerard sees that Frank had made a rather unsymmetrical but large sized hole using the screwdriver which allows one to see clearly into the other stall. It’s about hip height, or what he assumes is Frank’s hip height. It lands somewhere along Gerard’s thighs from where he stands. Gerard turns to Frank, unimpressed. 

“I’m not putting my dick in that.” He states plainly.

The joy falls from Frank’s face. He was obviously very proud of his shitty glory hole. He stands up and crosses his arms over his chest, which doesn’t do much for his case as Gerard still has to look down at him. “I never said it would be _your_ dick that goes in there.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “The average sized adult human male is not going to be able to put their dick in there. Or, want to. Imagine the splinters.” He winces at the thought.

Frank doesn’t take no for an answer though, like ever. He presses up against Gerard and holds the taller man’s waist in his hands. “But, Gerard.” He whines, pulling him into a kiss. “I made it just for us, so we can have fun.”

Gerard wraps his arms around Frank’s back. “We don’t have fun? I can hop on the bathroom counter and you can blow me there. That’s fun, you always like that.”

Usually they sneak into the back storage area to do this, or even the green room in the back when they really want privacy. But, Gerard’s never been against a quick blowjob in the bathroom, not when he was alive and certainly not now.

Frank moves his kisses to the man’s neck, sucking and teething at the skin there as he goes. “Come on.” He mumbles against Gerard. “I was so bored and I thought it would be fun to try this out, have some fun, you know?” He moves his head away from Gerard’s body and looks up at him with wide, sparkling eyes. “Please?”

Gerard can’t deny him.

Frank is perhaps the main reason Gerard hasn’t gone insane and taken a leap through the forbidden doors. There was an almost immediate attraction between them. Frank was exactly the type of man he would’ve gone for back when he was alive. He had an attitude, tattoos, and a smart mouth that he knew how to put to good use. Back on Earth, they probably could’ve had a good thing. Dated and lived together and made art together and made a life together. But, it’s better to not dwell on things like that, they’ve learned. It only hurts in the end. 

So, they make the best of what they can have. They joke around and have fun with their friends and pull pranks and fuck like rabbits whenever they get the opportunity. It’s as close to normalcy as they will ever get.

Gerard tilts his mouth up and lays a sweet kiss on Frank’s lips. “Okay, baby. Let’s try it.”

Frank tries to contain his excitement, but he’s bouncing on his toes after Gerard agrees to it. “Wait for me to get into position first. It will seem more real if I’m already there when you go in.”

Frank kicks Gerard out of the stall and locks it behind him. Gerard sautners over to the other one. “I mean usually this is anonymous and we’re the only two people here, so there’s nothing realistic about it.” 

“Just go with it, Gee.”

He leans against the door frame for a second before entering. He doesn’t even bother closing and locking the door behind him. No one really ever comes into the bathroom anyway.

When he gets in, he can see Frank’s knees underneath the partition, ready and waiting. That’s enough to get Gerard’s dick into gear and with the situation. He reaches down and palms his groin, hardening it up a bit. When he looks into the glory hole, he sees a pair of hazel eyes watching him. 

“It’s kind of weird when I can see you watching me.”

“I always watch you.”

“Yeah, but like, the point of a glory hole isn’t that you watch me, you know. It’s that you suck my dick.” He puts it bluntly.

He watches Frank’s eyes roll before moving out of frame. “Fine.”

He’s then greeted with the sight of Frank’s plush lips, then his open mouth. He presses down particularly hard against his crotch and can practically see Frank’s mouth water at the noise he makes. Gerard decides he needs his clothes off and his dick in Frank’s mouth right now. 

Frank closes his mouth as he waits for Gerard to insert his dick into the hole, he licks his lips, getting them wet and ready for what’s to come. Gerard loves watching it, the anticipation. He can see it sometimes when they’re out on the floor, serving customers and slinging cocktails. Gerard will say some offhand comment, or move his hips a particular way and Frank will just _look at him_. His muscles will relax and his shoulders will drop and his mouth will hang open and Gerard knows he’s thinking about it. They usually make their exit as quick as possible and end up one on top of the other. 

Gerard suspects that the others know what’s going on between them, but they accept it and don’t care enough to comment. 

Gerard is sliding his hand up and down his dick, feeling it fill up and grow harder in his palm. The soft sound travels through the quiet, empty bathroom. He hears a moan from the other side of the partition, meaning Frank definitely heard it as well.

“Wait your turn.” Gerard says, directed at Frank, but slightly to himself as well. He wants this to be good for them, wants Frank to work himself up a bit before he can have what he wants. 

He hears Frank whine, kind of like a kid when you tell them they can’t have their present until Christmas morning. It brings a smile to Gerard’s face, imagining Frank on the other side, knees growing cold against the tile floor, throwing a fit like a child over Gerard’s cock. 

“Gee, come on. Let me suck it. I know you love my mouth. So much better than your hand. I’ll make it so good for you, Gee, please.”

Gerard shakes his head and gets into position. He has to spread his legs and squat a bit to get his dick at height with the glory hole, but he braces himself against the wall and holds his hard cock, aligning it.

“Open.” He says simply and Frank does.

Slowly, he pushes into Frank’s open mouth. It’s just as good as always. Frank doesn’t discuss much about his life before the bar, but Gerard suspects he got around, cause he takes cock like a fucking pro. In the mouth or in the ass, Frank knows his way around a dick and Gerard is always grateful for that. 

Frank remains still as he’s filled with Gerard’s stiff length. He can feel the shallow puffs of air coming from Frank’s nose as he tries to breathe while accommodating Gerard. It almost tickles once his face is closer to the base, sending shivers through his lower body. His mouth is hot and slick and everything he used to dream about. 

Gerard can feel when his hips are almost flush against the hard partition wall. He gets as close as he can without losing balance. He holds for a moment, resting his forehead against the solid wall in front of him and takes a few breaths, letting Frank get comfortable as well.

When he’s ready, he whispers, “Go.” 

It’s soft, but he knows Frank hears it when he immediately gets into action.

Frank bobs his head up and down Gerard’s cock, letting it hit the back of his throat before sliding it out again. His mouth is so wet smooth against his skin. His tongue, which had been waiting patiently, starts stroking against the underside of his dick, a delicious contrast to the slide of the rest of his mouth. 

Gerard lets out a staccato moan, not realizing how much he needed this until he was there and it felt so _good_ and right. It always feels like that with Frank.

Frank doesn’t let up. He pulls all the way off, letting his tongue lick up and down the sides and pressing open mouth kisses against him. He circles his tongue around the head a few times, teasing Gerard before diving back down and swallowing. 

When Frank starts sucking, Gerard has to throw his head back. The glory hole is a cute idea but he’s curing it right then. As much as he likes switching it up a bit and feeding into Frank’s dirty imagination, he wishes he could see him. He loves hearing the wrecked sounds he’s making on the other side of the partition and feeling the vibration of his moans against his cock, but there’s nothing like seeing his red lips pulled around his dick. Frank is pretty beautiful normally, with his soft rocker look and his big, bright eyes, his crooked teeth in the smile he tries to hide. But, Gerard loves to watch Frank’s features change as he loses it. 

When Gerard fucks, it’s good and warm and tingly all over, but he can hardly imagine what it’s like for Frank. He loses himself in it. He closes his eyes, shuts off his brain, and channels all of his attention into sex. It’s like there’s nothing else and no one else. He pays no attention to the flush that takes over his skin or the saliva that drips down his face or the ache in his knees. All that’s there is Gerard and him and feeling that pulse start to beat faster and faster underneath their skin until it explodes. 

It’s a fucking sight to see, and Gerard finds himself missing it, as good as the blowjob is. The images that run through his head are nowhere near as good as getting to see the real thing.

“Frankie.” He croons, willing his mind to remember who is on the other side of the wall. “Such a good mouth, always so good for me.”

He can feel him cry against his cock, loving the praise.

“You take me so well. So hot and slick around me. Your tongue, fuck, please Frank, more of your tongue.”

He can almost hear Frank obnoxiously say “Your wish is my command,” in his head because in the next moment, Franks tongue is swirling around him, digging into the vein.

He hadn’t even realized that his balls fit through the glory hole until he feels Frank’s fingers massaging them. He takes them one at a time at first, giving them equal attention before rolling them both in his palm.

That’s when he knows he’s done for. He can feel his balls tightening up against him and he knows Frank deos to because Frank pulls off for a second, not letting his sack go, and tells Gerard to come in his mouth.

His voice is wrecked, like someone’s taken a grater to it. 

He uses his other hand to stroke the base, then goes wild with his mouth and tongue against the head, pulling out all his dirty tricks.

Gerard feels like he doesn’t have a body. He’s all dick and balls and the rest of his limbs lie useless and forgotten because there is no more mental energy he has for anything not covered by Frank’s hands or mouth. He’s loose like gumby and he can feel his orgasm so close he can practically feel the phantom spasms take over him, but he’s not there yet. His heart is racing and his dick is throbbing and he just wants to _let go_.

“Please.” He sobs, not knowing what he needs, but knowing he needs something to throw him over the edge.

Frank removes his hands and shoves himself forward, swallowing around Gerard and gagging as he forces it as far down his throat as it will manage. Frank’s throat is so _tight_ and his tongue is fluttering as Frank slams his head forward, practically choking himself as he fucks his own throat with Gerard’s dick.

Gerard imagines how debauched Frank must look right now, sweaty, with his eyes squeezed shut and tears rolling down his cheeks. Almost as desperate for Gerard to come as Gerard is. That sends him over the edge, gasping for breath as he empties his load into Frank’s mouth.

Frank manages to pull back a little before he does, still working lazily around the tip to suck Gerard through his orgasm. He swallows the cum as it fills his mouth. He only pulls back when Gerard starts to twitch from overstimulation.

“Fuck.” Gerard pants. “Holy shit was that good.”

He takes a few moments to regain his bearings after Frank sucked all remaining brain cells out through his dick.

He breathes against the wall for a good thirty seconds before he actually notices it. The soft noise, the slight rustle of fabric.

“Frank, are you touching yourself?”

He doesn’t get an answer so much as a strangled groan for a response. He must be palming himself through his pants.

“Did my thick cock get you hard, baby? Did it stretch your throat out real good?”

Gerard didn’t have the energy or bodily awareness to go over to the other stall and give Frank a hand, but he hoped that a little dirty talk would suffice.

“You were so good for me, Frankie. Take yourself out. Fuck your hand for me. You deserve it.”

He hears the clink of a belt buckle and a zipper opening as Frank eagerly rushes to obey Gerard’s commands. Suddenly, the rustle sounds turn slick and squishy as Frank starts stroking his own cock.

“Yeah, that’s it. Feel the drag of your hand. I bet it feels so good. Always does when you’re jacking me off.”

Frank whimpers, apparently closer than Gerard realized. 

“Are you close? I bet you had to stop yourself from creaming your pants while you were blowing me. Such a cockslut.”

It’s then Frank finally forms a sentence. “Love your dick, Gerard. Love making you feel good. So big, so full always.”

Frank’s rambling makes him sound almost drunk. He’s probably off in his own world, losing himself in Gerard’s words and the slide of his own hand.

“Do you feel good? Does your hand feel good? I wish it was mine. I wish I could pin you down and stroke you nice and slow. Slow until you’re whining against me, begging me for more, begging me to come. Then I’d spit on it, speed up and blow your fucking mind. You’d be crying against me. Coming like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, fucking soaking us in it. You want that, baby?”

Frank chokes out a long moan as he comes into his hand and probably across the bathroom floor.

“Yeah, you do. Next time, I swear.”

He hears Frank taking deep breaths, willing the air back into his lungs. Gerard can’t take it anymore, he needs to kiss him, hold his warm body against his own.

He puts himself back in his jeans, fixing his clothes, and unlatches the lock on his stall about the same time as Frank does his own.

When Gerard sees him, he’s debauched. His face is patchy red and covered in sweat and drying tears. His hair is falling into his eyes, but he makes no attempt to move it away. He just leans against the checkerboard tile wall, his dick hanging out of his jeans and a trail of his own jizz on the floor in front of him.

Gerard kneels down and kisses him on the forehead before returning his limp cock to the inside of his boxers, pulling his pants up a little.

He tucks Frank’s bangs behind his ear and the man looks up at him, almost like he’s seeing him for the first time. His face settles into calm satisfaction as he recognizes Gerard in front of him.

“Hi,” he whispers to Frank and settles down beside him. “I will admit I was wrong. That glory hole wasn’t too bad of an idea after all.”

Frank chuckles and wipes at the mess of his mouth with his sleeve.

“Told you so.”

They sit in a peaceful silence for a bit, regaining sensation in their limbs and brain. Gerard feels Frank lean against his side and his heart swells. He really doesn’t know what he would do without him here. He thanks whatever deity put them both in this weird in between place, so that Gerard could keep this wonderful man to himself, if only just for a little bit.

Still, they’d spent a suspiciously long time in the bathroom already, and there was a bar to be run.

He pats Frank’s knee reassuringly.

“C’mon. Let's go wash your face up a bit. Then we can go annoy Brian about something.”

Frank looks over at him, looks into his eyes and through some weird connection, lets Gerard know he feels the same way about him. He nods and pushes himself up to clean up in the sink.

*

“Hey Brian,” Frank announces in a cheery voice.

A sigh echoes in the small back office. It’s not surprising. It’s usually the sound any of the guys are greeted with when they venture into Brian’s territory. 

The office contains a computer that only Brian can log into, thank god. Brian has an excel spreadsheet open. He always has the spreadsheet open. He never finishes it. Right when he thinks he’s done inputting shit, more shit pops up that needs to be entered.

As a former band manager, office work is exactly what Brian thought purgatory would be.

“Hello Frank. What have you broken this time?”

Brian spins around in his office chair, an annoyed, dull look in his eyes. He’s very used to Frank coming back into his office only to announce that he’s permanently marred some part of the bar and that he needs Brian to fix it. That, or to pull a practical joke on him. Either way, Brian doesn’t have time for it. He’s _so close_ to being done with this section of the spreadsheet.

Frank puts his hands up in defense. “I didn’t break anything! Scout’s honor, I swear.”

Brian narrows his eyes and looks between Frank and Gerard. He sniffs the air and one of his eyes starts to twitch.

“You two fucked in the bathroom again, didn’t you? Fuck, I’m gonna have to order more cleaning supplies. I’m going to have to order fucking bleach.”

He spins around in his chair and minimizes the spreadsheet only to open another color coded spreadsheet and begin typing furiously.

“No! The bathroom is clean and fine. We literally just got done cleaning it. It’s fine.” Gerard says, spinning Brian’s chair back around to face them and offering a shy, guilty smile.

“I don’t believe you. You’re both sweaty and he,” Brian points to Frank, “smells like spunk.”

They both turn to Frank, who offers only an irreverent shrug. “Either way, and I'm not at liberty to claim what did or did not happen in the bathrooms, you should maybe, I don’t know, not go in there for a while. And if you do, maybe don’t look too hard at the stall divider.”

Brian shakes his head and turns his attention back to the computer. “I’ll order some bleach and some paint.”

Frank walks further into the office and leans on Brian’s desk. He picks up Brian’s coffee mug and chugs a bit of it before returning it to the coaster. Brian doesn’t even try to swat his hand away, too engrossed in his order.

“You know you don’t have to actually order any of that shit right? Whenever we need more, it just pops up in the storage area, or like on the shelves or something.” 

Gerard nods. “I poured like an entire row of shots once and finished a bottle of tequila, but when I turned around, there was a new bottle sitting where the old one was. Poof! Like magic.”

Frank giggles. “Yeah, once I took a gnarly shit in the bathroom and thought I finished a roll of toilet paper and was gonna have to like waddle over to the sinks and use a paper towel but nope, new roll pops up, two ply and everything.”

Brian does not look up from his order as he replies. “Thank you for that enlightening story, Frank. One I definitely needed to hear.”

Frank just drinks more of Brian’s coffee. “Just saying. You’re wasting your time.”

Brian manages to squeeze a small glare at Frank between keystrokes. “I know. I’ve seen things replenish. I still have to order them, though.”

For a while, there is only the sound of Brian’s frantic typing as the three men sit in silence for a while. It would be nice, just sitting, if that wasn’t all they fucking did. There’s a lot of waiting in the afterlife. A lot of dead time, which Gerard suspects they should’ve expected, but that doesn’t make it any more tolerable. Like, he’s grateful that he’s not in hell getting barbecued and having his nails ripped off and stuff, but working at the bar _fucking sucks_. They can’t even get drunk! They’ve tried. It tastes like alcohol but you don’t get that warm feeling in your belly once it’s down the hatch. Their overlords couldn’t even give them that.

When Gerard was a kid learning about religion, he imagined that dying would be nice. He would walk in the clouds with Lincoln and Hendrix in a dope white tuxedo eating ice cream and the best pancakes he’d ever had. Angels would be flying around and shit, sprinkling glitter on them or something. The stuff of dreams.

When Gerard was a teenager learning about the world, he imagined that dying would be a load of crap. He still had all of the teachings of the Catholic church in his head. Except, then he started to realize that he liked guys in a different way that he liked girls. Specifically, he found himself wanting to hold their hands and kiss them and maybe even put his hand on their private parts, especially if they wanted to put their hands on his private parts in return. That stuff got you sent to hell. If he died, he’d probably spend eternity getting chewed like a meatball or being used as a human pin cushion. At fifteen, he started preparing for eternal torture.

Now that he’s stuck wherever the fuck he is now and it is not what he prepared for, he’s not really sure what to make of it. This is worse than when he used to get stuck going with his mother to her hair and nail appointments and waiting for hours while Donna chatted with the salon worker about the latest gossip. Now, he doesn’t even have any action figures to play with. Now, he can’t leave.

“This really isn’t what I thought the afterlife would be.” Gerard announces, breaking the lull in noise.

The click clack of keys stops abruptly. Even Frank looks up from messing with Brian’s paperwork. 

“Yeah. No shit.” Brian says dryly.

Brian turns to face them and they all share a look. Gerard and Frank sling badly made cocktails at customers they’ll never see again. They wipe down bars and tables for lack of a better thing to do. Brian fucking fills out paperwork all damn day. It’s not one way or the other, but it is a meager existence that they’ve all just blindly accepted. Compared to everything you learn about the afterlife, it’s disappointing. 

“I thought I was going to hell.” Gerard admits, playing with the hangnail on his thumb. “I was fully expecting to be led to the gates of the underworld after the plane crash. Though it was a blessing when I ended up at a bar instead. Not sure if I was right in that sentiment.”

Brian nods and runs his hand over his face. “I thought I was going up. It was what everyone told me when I was going through chemo. _You’re going to a better place_. I was so fucking tired at the end of it. So ready to be anywhere that wasn’t a hospital. My surprise when I ended up here.” He rolls his eyes at the end of his thought.

Gerard looks at Frank. He’s visibly uncomfortable and he hasn’t said anything. He’s concerned. Frank was the first one here, he probably hates this place more than anyone. Gerard places a reassuring hand on his thigh. When Frank looks up, he can’t meet Gerard’s gaze and immediately turns away. It forms a knot in Gerard’s gut. He and Frank are closer than anyone else there. If Frank can’t trust him with his thoughts, then who can he trust them with?

“I don’t think I was a good person, per se. But, I don’t think I was particularly bad.” Gerard rambles. “I tried. I fucked up a lot and I probably hurt people and pissed others off, but I tried. Even at my worst, I tried to be better.”

It’s completely silent then. It’s weird. There’s always some kind of busy noise in the bar. Murmurs of the crowd, Brian typing on the computer, even the hum of the ice machine underneath it all. Now it’s just uncomfortably quiet. 

There’s nothing else to say. They all tried. They all gave life their best shot, trying and sometimes failing to do the right thing. But no one there was a bad person. They’re all stuck in this purgatory with a lifetime of questions and no answers. No one has them. They could yearn for more, but they'd never get it. There is nothing any one of them could say that would make their situation better. Not unless one of them could speak something into existence that would take it all away.

“We should probably get back to the bar. Let you get back to work.” Frank speaks softly, hoping his words don’t ring too loudly in their ears. They do anyway.

Brian’s eyes, downcast, are pulled up by Frank’s words. He nods and goes back to typing on the computer. It’s not as fast and frantic as before, but he returns to his normal state at the bar. 

Frank and Gerard find their way out, back to the monotony of it all.

*

“I just can’t believe he did that to me you know? Like, we’d only been dating three months, but I don’t think it’s a lot to ask to let me throw a birthday party for a few select friends in his parents’ beach villa. I was really hurt by that.”

There is a blonde girl in a gold mini dress talking to Mikey. Or, talking _at_ Mikey, more like. Mikey isn’t listening and has his signature disinterested look on his face. Like he’d rather be doing anything else, fucking long division even. It usually had a way of making you feel really dumb and boring, but this chick is paying it no attention.

“Okay. But do you know what you want to drink?”

Ray taps a bottle of vodka against the counter impatiently. A line is starting to form behind her. This can only mean one thing.

“Well if this doesn’t look like-” Frank begins, but is cut off by Gerard.

“Fuck. A rush.”

They sigh in unison and man their stations. 

A rush, in technical terms, is a fucking nightmare. As fast as you can count, shake, pour and serve, it will never be fast enough. The drinks will never be good enough. The customers will continue to line up and see the queue of people they are waiting behind but still complain as to why they didn’t get served fast enough. You can try and prep for a rush. It is a futile task, though, so they stopped doing it.

When you’re in the middle of a rush, pulling out all the fancy tricks and making drinks using muscle memory alone, you look out at the line of scowling faces and know one thing for sure: it will never end.

During their first rush as a team, back when they were fresh and new at this, it went so bad Gerard was sure he was actually in hell and it was all an elaborate punishment.

Now, he just makes the drinks and moves on to the next one.

This rush is pretty bad. Halfway through, he can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. People are ordering fancy cocktails instead of mixed drinks. Someone orders _absinthe_. One kid even asks for his drink to be remade _three times_ because "their ratio is off." A middle aged woman complains that there aren’t any mocktails on the menu. The people waiting behind sigh in frustration.

They’re all at their predetermined stations. From working together for ages, they know where they all work best. They’re a real good team and know how to make the orders flow seamlessly.

Mikey takes the orders. He takes nothing personally and takes no shit, which really speeds things up. Toro is the main bartender. He is cute, precise as fuck and can make a mean Manhattan, so having him serve the majority of fancy drinks works. Gerard sticks to mixed drinks and drafts, occasionally stepping in and making a cocktail if Ray needs help. Frank is the designated barback. He pops open beers and keeps the bar clean. He makes sure the utensils and cups are stocked and garnishes are looking good. He expedites the line and gets people water, if needed. Mostly, he hands Ray and Gerard new bottles and glasses when they yell at him.

The rush, like all rushes, eventually ends, and they’re left to collect what’s left of themselves after.

Frank uses the bar rag to wipe sweat from his forehead, having served his barback duties well. “Well that was a fun one.”

Mikey scoffs and turns to address him “Yeah, for you. You didn’t have to talk to any of them.

Ray immediately agrees with Mikey. “You popped open a few beer bottles and manned the water station, calm down.”

Frank takes the rag and flicks it out toward Ray’s leg, giggling as it catches him and he winces. “Damn I help you out and this is what y'all have to say? You guys are mean.”

They all have a level of respect for one another and appreciate what they each contribute, but it is fun to bother Frank about having the most bitch baby role.

Gerard adds, “Frank, you're an angel. No idea how we could’ve handled that without you. Nobody can pour ice in an empty glass like you,” because he’s courteous and nice like that.

Frank tips his imaginary hat to him. “Thank you. I’m glad someone admires my talents.”

An older biker dude with sunglasses on taps the bar to get their attention. He looks kind of like Santana.

“Do you know when the band is gonna be on?” He asks.

The four of them answer with a greek chorus of, “Soon.”

_But how soon?_ A little voice in the back of Gerard's head begs. He pushes it away. Now is not the time for daydreaming.

The man puts his hands up and walks away.

They wait a little longer, in case someone else wants to ask or they get a dreaded second wave of rush. No one comes and they’re back to the dead bar they’re used to. Time to get back to work.

“Hey, do you mind wiping down while I sweep up a bit?” Gerard asks Mikey, reaching for the broom and dustpan they keep nearby.

“Yeah for sure.” Mikey says, already grabbing a new rag.

“I got the dishes!” Shouts Frank, running to grab the bus tub.

“I’ll grab more straws from the back.” They hear from Toro, muffled as he’s already in the back room grabbing boxes.

They do their business, get their tasks done and the bar is once again at a normal state. It’s a cool down after coming out of a rush, lets them get their heads in a calmer place. It feels good, feels normal. But it doesn't feel _right_.

When Gerard comes back from sweeping, he finds them all standing around once more, waiting.

Frank is picking at a bowl of unsalted tortilla chips “This kind of sucks doesn’t it?”

At first, Gerard thinks he’s talking about the chips, which he has to admit, do suck. The bags that show up are always unsalted and stale, which isn’t what he wants in a tortilla chip. Eventually, he realizes Frank is speaking a bit more existentially. 

“Yeah, it fucking blows.” He agrees. Their existence in the bar is truly the unseasoned, generic brand in the aisle of existences. 

Mikey speaks up. “I always thought working at a bar or in a shitty club would be cool. It always looked cool.”

Gerard shakes his head. “No, it sucked out there, too.” As if his brother didn’t remember the horror stories he used to tell. Oh well, Mikey was there sometimes too, usually getting high with the band in the back. Different view on the matter.

Mikey shrugs. He picks at the garnishes once more, taking a cherry and plopping it in his mouth. “Well, I figured out there, there would at least be music, cool shit to listen to.”

Toro nods. “I miss music so much.”

The sentiment is echoed in all of them.

“I feel that.” Gerard agrees. _That_ was pretty cool, he must admit. He didn’t work in a bar that played punk shows or anything, but as an employee, he did control the music that played on the speakers. He always put on good shit for them to work to.

“I miss playing guitar.” Ray continues, like he never finished his thought in the first place. “What I’d give just to hold one again.”

Frank crunches some ice between his teeth and replies, “I miss being on fucking stage, man. Nothing else like it.”

Gerard likes to think of Frank on stage. He’s talked about the bands he used to play with before and he always sounds so excited and passionate about it. He imagines that Frank playing guitar is a bit like Frank having sex. He probably puts his whole body into it, loses himself. On stage in front of a crowd full of people, he probably plays like it’s just him and the music.

“I’d give my left foot just to listen to a Smashing Pumpkins album one more time and really appreciate it, you know?” Mikey quips.

That’s no surprise. When they were alive, his brother did multiple dubious things in the name of the Pumpkins. He’s sure than when Mikey says he’d give his foot to hear them again, he’s not fucking around.

“I used to play Bullet With Butterfly Wings with my band as a warm up all the time.” Frank stares off like he’s reminiscing. Like, if he remembers hard enough, he’ll be able to feel the guitar against his body, the reverberation in his bones.

“I would play Zero on my shitty second hand bass in our basement and Gerard would pretend he was Billy Corgan.” Mikey laughs at the memory and Gerard joins in.

He was so embarrassing back then, not knowing the end was so close, not knowing what he had to lose. Looking back, he wishes he were more embarrasing, did more stupid shit. Other people’s thoughts on him really didn’t matter in the end. Memories like singing into a hair brush with his brother in their pajamas, those are what he treasures now. He doesn’t have enough of them.

“I used to put on Night at the Opera and pretend I was Brian May.” Ray announces. He closes his eyes and shakes his curls about, playing the air guitar as if he were back in his bedroom and Freddie Mercury was crooning in the background and everything was good and right again.

They all laugh a little at the thought of baby Toro jamming out in his room, uninhibited and unashamed, hardly a care in the world. Ray would’ve been such a good guitarist. Should have been. If only there was a single guitar in this venue, then he could still be, if only for them.

“That’s so weird.” Gerard says.

“What?” Ray asks.

“We’re all musicians, right? Even Brian was a tour manager.” Gerard moves forward to elaborate, moving his hands around to articulate his point. “And we’re all here, at a music venue where no music is ever playing and waiting for a band that never goes on.”

“Well, yeah? That’s kind of the idea of purgatory, no?” Toro suggests.

Yeah, that does seem like a purgatory kind of thing, but it only scratches at what Gerard is hinting at, something that’s been sitting in the back of his mind for a while.

“But it’s almost like, I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“No, what?” Mikey asks, curiosity peaking.

Gerard bites his lip before replying, not sure if he’s going to sound crazy or even piss the guys off.

“I had this idea once, when people kept asking us when the band was going on. Like, for some reason we all think we’re waiting to see this band play, but, what if we weren’t? What if there was a reason we were all put here together? I don't know, like, maybe, we’re the band and this place is waiting for us.”

It feels _right_ rolling off his tongue. He looks at the stage and it almost calls to him. Sometimes, beneath the silence that stretches on at the bar, he can hear it whispering.

“That’s crazy.” Frank says immediately, shooting him down.

But, no, Gerard’s gotten started now, and he doesn’t want to stop.

“Is it? We’ve never even tried. We just accepted that this mindless bullshit is ours to tolerate for the rest of eternity.” He responds, getting a little heated.

“You’re right.” Toro agrees, joining Gerard.

“What?” There’s a hint of disgust in Frank’s voice now. He leans back to look at the two, like he can't believe it's them saying this.

“What? He has a point. We never tried playing.” Ray shrugs.

Frank moves away from the counter and gestures wildly. “Playing what? Do you see any instruments up there? We’ll go stand up there for a few minutes and make fools of ourselves.”

“I thought of all people you’d be into the idea, Frank.” Gerard’s voice is little. He had hoped that Frank would be excited, especially after how shut down he was in Brian’s office earlier.

“Okay, fine. What if you’re right? And this place is waiting for us? What happens when we go and play?”

“We get some fucking music, finally.” Mikey mumbles.

Frank turns to Mikey and begins to argue directly with him. “Yeah and then what? When it’s over.”

This wasn’t what Gerard wanted when he suggested the idea. He doesn’t want them fighting.

“We get out of here.” Mikey offers bluntly.

“And go where?” Frank is up closely to Mikey’s face now, which Gerard can tell his brother doesn’t appreciate.

“Heaven? Hell? I don’t know. Why are you being so aggressive about this?” Mikey’s face is twisted up.

“I’m being rational. It’s a dumb idea.” Gerard can see his wall tower high as he spits the words out. He can see the anger and fire building in him. He can't explain it.

Gerard tries stepping in between the two and cuts their argument off. “Hey, maybe we go up there and we make fools of ourselves. Maybe nothing happens, but don’t you think even that is more appealing than doing this for the rest of fucking ever?”

“You’ve got to admit it, Frank. This feels right.” Ray says.

“You said it yourself. Nothing quite like being on stage.” Mikey adds, smirking.

Gerard tentatively puts his hand out on Frank’s shoulder, to steady him, to calm him. Hopefully, to bring him back down. “That’s what I meant by do you miss music. Even if nothing happens, even if we get sent to whatever nightmare realm Bob fell into, wouldn’t it be worth it to just go up there and play again?”

Frank looks at him in the eyes. Gerard senses something there. It isn’t quite rage or disagreement or even frustration, like he expected. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is but it’s there. He looks vulnerable, almost scared, even.

Like he can sense Gerard mulling about in his thoughts, Frank looks away.

“Yeah. It would.” Frank agrees softly, his voice quiet and reluctant. He then steps away to the far end of the bar, fiddling in his pocket anxiously.

The guys are paying him no attention, minds already far beyond, set on the idea of playing a show.

“I bet there’s some instruments lying around here somewhere.” Ray says, eyes darting about, trying to come up with a place they could be hiding.

“Maybe they popped up in storage like the bleach and ketchup and stuff.” Mikey peeks back into the storage area, like they somehow missed a full set of gear when doing inventory.

“Yeah, we should check all the closets.” Ray agrees and Gerard can hear him making a mental checklist in his head of the places around the bar they could be hiding.

“Maybe Brian knows? He’s always ordering shit, maybe he can order us some gear.” Mikey returns, having found nothing in the back.

“Or maybe they’ll just appear on stage, who knows? Someone could go up there and check?” Ray looks to the stage near them, willing the instruments forth.

He turns to the end of the bar, where he saw Frank last, but finds no one. In the midst of Mikey and Ray’s search for instruments, he slipped away.

“Hey, guys, wait. Where’s Frank.”

Mikey just waves him off and bends down to look for clues in the cabinets underneath them. “I don’t know? Probably getting pissy that nobody listened to him.”

Ray is writing down ideas on a napkin as he replies, “He was majorly peeved about the idea for some reason. Just give him a sec, he'll get over it. One of us should tell Brian.” He scampers off to the office to fill the manager in on their scheme.

Gerard shakes his head. How have the two spent so much time around Frank, but know so little about him. “He sounded distressed. Someone should go check on him.”

Mikey doesn't respond. Either he's too busy chasing this wild plan, or he doesn't care to think how something might actually be wrong with Frank. Either way, Gerard is left worried.

“Okay, fine, I’ll go find him and talk to him.”

*

When Gerard finds Frank, he’s not looking for instruments at all. He’s on the smelly couch, the one with the holes and cigarette burns on it. He’s got his head resting in his hands like he’s trying to work out all of the problems of the world in his brain. He’s clearly failing. 

Gerard walks over to the couch and takes a seat beside him. He makes no motion to touch Frank or disturb him in his state, fearful of the reaction he might invoke if he does. Instead, he tries to provide comfort with his presence and hopes Frank trusts him with whatever is going through his head.

“What do you think will happen, Gee?” Frank lifts his head and faces him, looking for the answers in Gerard’s face and finding a boy just as nervous as he is.

“I think we’ll leave.” Gerard offers, tossing him straws and hoping Frank finds a life raft in them. “We'll end up in heaven? Hell? Who knows, reincarnation maybe? Maybe even nothing, a complete separation from existence. But I think we’ll get out of here. I think it’s how this is supposed to end.”

Frank visibly shivers at the thought. He shakes his head and sinks his fists into his hoodie pockets, uncomfortable. He looks back down at the floor, as if maybe the answers fell out and landed there.

“Do you-” Frank starts, then stops himself. “Nevermind.”

Gerard won’t let him slip away that easily. He reaches out and pushes Frank’s hair back, needing to touch him, feel him under his skin, bring him back. When Frank meets his eyes once more, he looks absolutely terrified.

“Do you think we’ll be together after all this?” Frank asks with wide eyes. He chuckles nervously, then adds, “All of us, I mean.”

Gerard pulls his hand back from Frank’s space, thankful for him letting him in. “I hope so. I’ve grown attached to you all.”

Frank nods but doesn’t look entirely satisfied. He’s still holding something back and Gerard can feel it wanting to burst out of him, escape from his lips like a breath or a secret.

“Frank.” He sighs at Frank’s continued restraint. “We’ll find each other. We will.”

This only seems to make Frank more distressed. He shakes his head uncontrollably. “But what if this _is_ just a pit stop before the real end. Like, what if you all go to heaven or whatever after this and,” he pauses, “and I don’t.”

Gerard becomes confused. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you?” 

Gerard wants to touch Frank again, ground him and bring him back but the look in his eyes screams fear. He's like a small child or a wild animal. Gerard worries if he touches him again he might lash out or break down.

“Look.” Frank sticks out his hand towards Gerard. It shivers as if it were freezing. “You’re all good. Your deaths weren’t your fault. A plane crash, like, you couldn’t control that, you know. A bear? As badass as Toro is he couldn’t take an animal that big. Brian.” He exhales a long breath at the thought of Brian’s death. “He deserves so much better than what he got, than what he’s getting. Not me.”

By the end, his voice is cracking. Gerard just wants to wrap him in his arms and kiss it away. Change the subject, pretend this isn’t happening. But, he can’t. It’s not what Frank needs.

“What happened to you wasn’t your fault. Maybe it was stupidity or negligence, but you had as much to do with your death as the rest of us.” Gerard says softly, hoping it soothes Frank a little.

He shakes his head again. “You don’t get it.” He has to bite his lip and look away to get out the next part of his statement. “I lied to you. You all have things related to your death, to remind you. Didn’t you ever wonder why I never showed you mine?”

It looks like it’s taking all of his energy not to take it all back and run away.

“You were wet when we came in, Frank. Once you told us the story it was pretty obvious.”

Frank starts fiddling his thumbs, anxious to tell and frightened for it all to be revealed, all at the same time.

“When I got here I was alone. It was just me. I was scared and I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t even know I was dead. I went into the bathroom to throw water over my face, to convince myself it was all real. Then you all came and had these death stories. I didn't want to tell you mine, I was embarrassed. I was ashamed.” 

Gerard doesn’t understand. His story was embarrassing, yes, but they all got a kick out of it. They still do when they make fun of him at the bar. It is what it is. He doesn’t get why Frank is so stressed about it, but he tries to sympathize for his sake. You don’t get to choose your death.

Frank looks up at him then, and Gerard falls in love with the person he finds. He’s open and vulnerable. He’s scared, but he trusts him, trusts Gerard, and Gerard doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it.

“But I want you to know my story, the real one.”

Frank reaches his hand out to hold Gerard’s hand, like he’s asking for a lifeline, reaching for a port in a storm. Gerard squeezes his fingers in return, showing him he’ll do anything to pull him back to shore.

Frank squeezes back before releasing. He pulls his hand back and reaches into his jacket. When his hand returns, it’s holding something. He opens Gerard’s hand and places it there warily.

Gerard pulls the object up to his face to get a good look at it. It’s a small orange bottle with a white cap. A pill bottle. He shakes it, but nothing rattles around inside. It’s empty. _Lexapro, 10mg_ , it says on the label, _prescribed to Frank Iero_. Why was Frank handing him an empty pill bottle with some weird drug name on the label? How did Frank even get that here?

It hits Gerard like a train. He hadn’t even been aware he was lying on the tracks. 

This was his token. He didn’t bring a flood of water because he didn’t get electrocuted in a bathtub. These are antidepressants. This was how he died.

“Oh, Frankie.” Is all that comes out of his mouth when he tries to speak.

Frank’s eyes are wet when he responds. “I didn’t want you to think different of me. Didn’t want you to think of me as pathetic, weak.”

“Frank, I could never. I would never. How could you think I would ever think like that about you.” He’s almost angry at the assumption. That Gerard would think differently of him just because he- it hurt to even think it. That Frank, this light, this endless ball of energy, was in so much pain during his life that he killed himself.

“What if we do this and you all go to heaven or whatever, and I go to hell. It's a sin what I did. I can’t take it back. They won’t let me go with you all after doing that.” 

Gerard holds Frank’s face in his hand, stroking his cheekbone. Frank closes his eyes and leans into the touch. He tries to turn his face to look at him, but Frank is tense and resists it. 

“Frank look at me. Do you think Brian deserved to die?”

That does get Frank to look at him, there is a teardrop making its way down his cheek now. “What the fuck? Of course not.”

Gerard nods. He hated to think of it, Brian lying helpless and frail in a white empty hospital room. It hurt to think of the proud, strong man breathing his last breaths as he fights for his life with a disease he can't win against. 

“You’re right, he didn't. He was sick and he tried to fight it, but the cancer won in the end. But, it wasn’t his fault that he died. He didn’t deserve it.”

Frank scoffs at the implication. “I know that. So, what?”

He thinks of Frank lying hopeless on his bathroom floor, crying and emptying a bottle of pills into his stomach, eager for the pain to finally end. He finds that image cuts him to his core.

“So, why did you? Huh? Why is your illness any different? Was the pain you felt not real because it wasn’t physical? Cause you couldn’t see it on a cat scan? Kill it with drugs? You fought your fucking hardest until the very end. You tried to live. You didn’t deserve the pain you felt. You didn’t deserve to be sick. You didn’t deserve to fucking die.”

For a while Frank’s mouth hangs open at Gerard’s words. He looks a little shocked, like it was the last thing he expected to hear. Maybe after all the time he’s spent here, thinking about it, all he wanted was to be absolved, to be forgiven. Gerard can’t offer him forgiveness, because nothing about that situation would make it Frank’s fault in the first place. But, he can offer him reprieve. 

Frank lunges forward and kisses him. It’s not hungry, it’s not hot. It’s cool and soft, like drinking a glass of water when your throat is parched. Frank lets his lips rest against Gerard’s, feeling the connection between them, before pulling back and burying his face in Gerard’s chest, sobbing the eternity’s worth of agony he’s been holding back. Gerard wraps his arms around him and strokes his back, sending all his love into the smaller man’s shaking form. 

All Gerard can think is that he wished he’d told him sooner. That he hadn’t sat and joked around and fucked Gerard all the while ignoring the gaping hole in his chest left to fester and rot; this secret behind the lips he’d kissed so many times. He’d held it all back from them, suffering in silence. All this time they were fucking around, he could've been healing. 

Eventually, his sobs die down and Gerard hears a tiny, “thank you,” mumbled against his chest.

“Thank _you_ ,” Gerard responds, “for trusting me enough to tell me this.”

Frank pulls himself up and wipes at his red cheeks with his sleeves.

“Promise me, Gee. Promise me you won’t forget me. If we end up in the same place or different places, please don’t forget.”

Gerard simply places a kiss on his reddened forehead. “Whether you’re dimensions away or on the other side of a door, I will never forget you. I will always look for you wherever we go, always.”

This brings a smile to Frank’s lips and Gerard decides it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Thanks,” he says, clearing his voice from the tears, “Uh, me too, you know.”

Gerard smiles back and places a small gentle kiss on his lips.

“Should we go look for some instruments?” Gerard asks.

Frank straightens himself up, eager to leave the conversation in the past and move on. “Yeah. I had an idea actually. You remember that storage closet we could never find the key for? What if it wasn’t a key we needed? What if we just needed to know what we were looking for?”

*

The gang, or rather, the _band_ , stand in front of the stage right storage closet. For as long as they’ve been trapped at the bar, the door has never opened. They tried picking the lock once with a bobby pin Mikey secretly stole from a customer’s hair. Toro tried prying it open with a screwdriver once, only to find it wouldn’t budge. Frank even tried to chip away at it only like he did with the glory hole in the bathroom. It was like the damn door was made with reinforced steel or something. Nothing ever worked. When they first arrived, they even looked for a key for the door, but that wasn’t as fun as trying to burn it down with a makeshift molotov cocktail. 

Now, they’re here faced with the task of opening this fucking door once more. They don’t know if there are any instruments behind it, they don’t even know if it will actually _open_. 

But they all know they have to at least try.

Gerard looks to Mikey, who's looking to Frank, who’s looking to Ray, who’s looking to Brian, who has his stare trained right on the door’s menacing knob. 

As the de facto manager of them all, Brian takes a breath and steps forward, lightly grasping the handle as though it might burn him. It doesn’t, so he grips it harder. He turns it. For a long while the knob just turns with no suggestion as to if it will actually let them inside.

But, eventually, miraculously, a click sounds and the door creaks open. They all exchange glances of joy, excitement with a hint of fear. The door is open now, but they still have half a clue as to what’s inside. 

Brian’s hand stills on the handle, not pushing it open, but not pulling it shut either. He’s as unsure as the rest of them to try walking in. After all, this could be another Bob situation. They could walk in and get vaporized, or worse.

Mikey’s impatience wins out, though. He scoffs at the lot of them and walks past Brian, shoving the door open and mumbling, “bunch of fucking babies." Mikey vanishes into the darkness inside and Gerard lets out a choked, “No,” reaching out a hand to pull Mikey back but not moving to follow his brother.

There’s a few long seconds after Mikey walks in where they all just stare into the darkness, waiting for Mikey to return and hoping that the darkness doesn’t stare back.

He doesn’t return.

Gerard hears the rattling of a chain being pulled and a single light bulb flickers on to reveal Mikey standing amid a bay of music equipment. It looks dusty, like the stuff has been waiting there a long time for them. It has. But a feeling does pierce through the uncertainty. It rattles in his bones and races through his veins. This stuff is _theirs_. It’s been waiting there for them all this time and it wants them to _play_.

Frank is the next one in, booking it toward a shiny, white Epiphone Les Paul.

“Holy shit.” Frank says, picking it up and running his fingers across the body. “I’ve always wanted one of these.”

A wide smile is spread across his face and it feels like fate to Gerard, who watches the small man wrap the guitar strap around him and move his fingers across the fret board, getting a feel of it.

Ray starts laughing when he spots a Gibson Standard with a sunburst design. He immediately picks it up and begins picking at it, strumming a chord here and there. “My brother had a knockoff one of these and I always wanted to steal it from him. It was the coolest shit.”

Mikey is next, practically tumbling over a sparkly Fender Mustang bass. He braces himself and doesn’t end up breaking himself or the guitar, but it’s like watching someone fall in love at first sight. Gerard remembers watching his brother fuck around with a bass in his room when they were teens. He came up with some pretty cool riffs when he wasn’t too busy trying to be D’arcy Wretzky.

Gerard eventually enters and looks around, trying to find his chosen instrument. He finds it in an ordinary black microphone on an ordinary black microphone stand. While the others revel in their fancy custom models that they couldn’t even dream of owning back when they were alive, Gerard is faced with a nameless microphone, looking about the same as any other, tape wrapped around part of the wire. It’s not about the equipment for him. It’s about what the fuck he has to say into it.

Then, there is only one.

Brian is still at the door frame staring into the storage room. “I don’t play any instruments.” He admits.

They all turn to him. He has to play. He’s their manager, the level headed one, the one who kept their shit together for them all this time. He was going on stage with them, full stop.

Ray turns to the only unclaimed item. There is a set of drums lying neglected in the corner. He sets his new guitar down to grab the drum sticks lying on the seat. He walks over and sticks them out to Brian until he takes them, not taking no for an answer.

“I know you’ve never played, but something tells me beginner’s luck will carry you through.”

Brian just stares at the sticks in his hand blankly, unsure.

Frank’s loud voice shocks him into gear. “Come on Brian. Play with us. Please? I promise I won’t jump on your kit mid performance.” He smiles with a smirk that says he absolutely will destroy some part of the drum equipment mid performance. Yet, somehow Frank’s irritating optimism is exactly what is needed to get Brian in the room and over to the drums, finally a proper part of the crew.

“Well.” Gerard starts, looking at his cellmates, looking at his brothers, looking at his band. “What do you all say we play some fucking music?”

*

Once they get all the instruments set up, they’re ready to take the stage for this swan song of theirs. They all have ideas of what might occur once they get up there, but at the same time, they’re throwing themselves off a cliff. 

But, after years of standing behind a bar, waiting for something to happen, it’s a rush. It’s the closest Gerard has felt to being alive, since well, he was alive. Whatever comes of this, they’re finally doing something. They’re being active participants in their fate. They’re taking control from whatever or whoever put them in there and spitting into its face, saying, “these lives are our own and we’re taking them back.”

A sign by the stage door reads, “Please leave all personal items before taking the stage” and they all intuitively know what that means.

Ray eagerly ditches the bear claw, tossing into the trash beside the door before walking confidently onto the stage and taking his place at stage left.

Mikey struggles a bit, his feather almost floating away a few times before he defiantly shoves it into the trash.

Gerard and Frank brace as Brian steps forward and removes his cap, revealing a clean, hairless head underneath. He nods at the boys and drops the cap in the trash before setting behind the drums, still getting a feel for them before he plays them for real.

Gerard tosses the burnt metal from his pocket, hardly giving it second glance as it lands in the metal can.

Frank hesitates, pulling out the pill bottle and giving it one last glance before kneeling and gently setting it inside the bin, the final piece.

Gerard pulls him close and kisses his cheek, willing Frank’s nervous energy away. 

“I will find you out there. I promise.”

Frank nods and gives him a reassuring smile, then a deep kiss on the lips, just in case it’s the last time. Somehow, Gerard knows it’s not.

They enter the stage and find that the lighting in the bar is different than they remember. All the house lights are off and the spotlights are trained on them, blindingly so.

Gerard walks up and looks into the crowd. He finds it more expansive than he expected. The bar looks very far away now, but it’s still out there in the distance, reminding them where they came from. The people in the crowd are familiar. They’re customers they’ve served. They were waiting for them, too. Gerard can pick out some of the more noticeable ones, even dreads and the redhead from earlier. Maybe they even knew it would be them when they spoke. Maybe they all knew that they were the band they came to see.

After all this time, he’d hate to disappoint.

He takes his place dead center, front of the stage, and taps the microphone. He’s met with a screech of feedback letting him know that it’s on, so he assumes his position as the frontman and addresses the crowd.

“Are you guys ready to hear some music?” He asks.

There’s scattered applause and a single whoop in response. It does nothing to hype him. He looks back at his band and sees the sentiment echoed on their faces. Even Frank, cocky and confident by nature, is fidgeting awkwardly with his guitar strap.

So, he demands more.

“I don’t think you all heard me right. I said, are you all ready to hear some motherfucking music?”

The crowd kicks it up a notch and suddenly Gerard feels like he’s playing to thousands, like he’s headlining Madison Square Garden. It’s electric. He can feel the energy pulse in his fingertips and on through his lips. It’s exhilarating and addicting all at once. He’s never been more ready to do this.

“Good.” He chuckles, taking the microphone off its stand and wrapping the cord it around his arm. “Cause we’re sure as shit ready to play it.”

He looks behind him and sees they’re all ready to play, too. He counts them off and the notes shoot out of them like rockets into the air.

There’s nothing but the music, then.

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from Dante's Purgatory


End file.
